cutting through my thoughts
like a knife through still flesh
you stop in the middle of the room
with a chessboard and no corner unturned

I, ivy climbing through
every window of your soul
burst into green shamelessly
and have you surrendered by life

we praise the silence and seek each other’s arms
through centuries
and if there would be thunders instead of words
the room we sleep in would echo:
I like it. What is it?